


Confession

by yeaka



Series: Random Roleswaps [6]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:21:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: On the road trip, Ignis receives his prince’s gratitude.





	Confession

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a series of unrelated FFXV role swaps; lemme know if you want one. This one’s for anon’s “prince!prompto and school friend!ignis. bonus points for prom/ignis, but gen's good too” prompt.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The room they get seems relatively large to Ignis, but that’s probably because he comes from a small studio apartment shared between both him and his uncle. Neither Gladiolus nor Noctis look particularly impressed with their accommodations, but then, they grew up in the Citadel. Prompto, who has more reason than any to notice the downgrade, reminds them, “It’s better than camping.” 

Gladiolus doesn’t look so sure, but then, he _likes_ staying out under the stars. Or at least, he seems to. Maybe it’s just that he likes saving the gil, since somehow, he’s still in charge of everything, even though none of the roles they had back in the crown city should matter much anymore.

Noctis is still the shield that orders, “Stay here,” before he and Gladiolus head out for groceries. Prompto’s still the handsome prince that nods and stays back while his retainers go take care of him. Ignis is still the nobody that somehow got to tag along, just because he miraculous managed to rustle up the courage to approach Prompto on that first day of high school, when he saw his childhood crush looking hot as hell but lonelier than anything. They’ve been best friends ever since. Ignis has even earned the Crownsguard uniform, but he’s still really just a commoner loyally trailing after his prince. 

He plops down onto the bed next to the one that Prompto’s picked—there’s two against that wall, about an arm’s length from one another, then two on the other side, with a nightstand in between each set, a beer fridge in the corner, and a small bathroom at the back. Prompto hovers by one bed while Ignis slips out of his shoes. He’s got them both off, down to black socks pulled taut by garters under his trousers, when he realizes Prompto’s watching him. When he looks over, Prompto shifts.

He opens his mouth, says nothing, then takes two steps to Ignis’ bed and sits on the edge. The day’s bravado seems to have withered away—Ignis can already tell this is one of Prompto’s more serious moments: something rare and precious that few people get to see. Prompto’s still beautiful, still bright, but the usual effervescent enthusiasm’s overshadowed with quiet sincerity. He tells Ignis, “Thanks, Iggy. ...For everything.”

Ignis’ inclination is to say _thank you_ back and glow with Prompto’s appreciation. But he admits, “I don’t understand.”

Prompto fidgets in place, his left hand lifting to the black wristband on his right. His blue eyes flicker away when he talks, voice lower than usual. “You know... for just... being here, I guess. Like... Gladio and Noct have to—they’re staff. I mean, don’t get me wrong, obviously we’re friends too, and I’m super glad to have them, but, like... you’re...”

“Your best friend,” Ignis provides, because that’s a title he’s quite proud to have earned. He likes Gladiolus and Noctis as well, but Prompto’s the one he’s spent all night playing King’s Knight with. Prompto’s the one he always looked up to, until he met the adorkable boy in person and realized how equal they really were in all the best of ways. Homework was always better when he had Prompto’s comical complaints to keep him awake, work always better when he knew Prompto was waiting after it. Once Prompto moved out of the Citadel, Ignis probably spent more time at the prince’s apartment than his own.

Prompto smiles, two tiny dimples indenting his freckled cheeks. It almost makes Ignis blush, because Prompto’s _so cute_ when he’s smiling. And it’s even better when Ignis put it there. But Ignis has all the self-control that Prompto doesn’t, and he has years of practice hiding his deeper feelings. He gently reminds Prompto, “I would follow you anywhere.”

Prompto pauses. Then his hand creeps across the mattress, subtly curving over Ignis’. His eyes finally meet Ignis’ again, and he repeats, “Thanks. ...Really, I mean it. I don’t know where I’d be without you. This whole thing...” He falters, and Ignis knows, understands—he lost so much too, but not as much as Prompto, and not _the most important thing_. Prompto swallows and goes on, “It’s just been so... _hard_. But, with you... I don’t know. You’ve made it a lot easier.” And he smiles again, a sad sort of thing, but extra poignant for it. Ignis’ chest constricts. 

“I... feel the same way about you.” Which is probably a weird way to say it. Prompto even looks at him funny.

Prompto says, “I doubt that.”

Ignis wonders, not for the first time, if he’s just seeing things he wants to. Because when Prompto looks at him just right, and sits as close as they are, even holding Ignis’ hand... it really does seem like Prompto might actually feel the same. If they were back in Insomnia, griping over games and day jobs, ignis probably would just leave it.

Maybe because they have been through so much, and Ignis doesn’t take anything for granted anymore, he dares to test the waters—he turns his hand over in Prompto’s so he can intertwine their fingers, and then he squeezes Prompto’s palm. 

He watches the blush bloom across Prompto’s cheeks, and there’s a moment of clarity. They’ve been too close for _years_. A part of Ignis has probably always known that it’s not normal to call friends up at two in the morning and joke that it’s just to hear each other’s voices, or regularly fall asleep on one another’s shoulders in the back of a car, or have more photos of them together than of everything else combined. 

The intelligent thing to do would probably be to discuss the nature of their relationship and what they both actually want, but for once, Ignis doesn’t do the smart thing. He reaches right out for what he wants, eager and tactile, like Prompto, and leans forward to peck Prompto’s cheek. 

Prompto _stares_ at him, wide-eyed, for a good thirty seconds before grabbing Ignis’ collar and jerking him back in. The kiss Prompto initiates is directly on the mouth, long and firm, and Ignis melts right into it. Prompto’s lips are every bit as soft as he thought they would be, a little damp and thrillingly smooth. Ignis wants nothing more than to pry him open and _taste_ him.

Prompto pulls back first, smiling so wide that it must hurt. Ignis adjusts his glasses, feeling vaguely like they’ve fogged up. Prompto sounds breathless already when he mumbles, “I’ve wanted to do that _forever_.”

Ignis is definitely blushing. He tells Prompto, “You should have. I would’ve been honoured.” He tilts in for another, but then the door creaks noisily open, and he and Prompto spring apart. 

Gladiolus and Noctis bustle in, Gladiolus grumbling, “Five hundred for a repair kit? The prices here are ridiculous! Either we find some better sellers, or we all gotta spend less.”

“Or you budget better,” Noctis throws back, looking unbothered and ready to pass out. He beelines for a bed as he goads, “That budgeting shit’s supposed to be _your_ job.”

“And _your_ job’s supposed to be protecting the prince,” Gladiolus counters, “And yet he’s clearly about to be despoiled.” 

Noctis whirls around, and Ignis holds back a groan. He realizes he and Prompto are still holding hands, and they both jerk theirs away, even though it’s obviously too late. Gladiolus dons an insufferable smirk, and Noctis _looks_ at them, but neither Ignis nor Prompto seem capable of saying anything. Ignis’ only consolation is that Prompto appears three times more embarrassed than him.

After a long, awkward silence, Noctis mutters, “’Bout time,” and plops face-first onto the bed. Gladiolus snorts and drops the shopping bags on the floor, heading for the washroom.

Ignis and Prompto look back at one another, Prompto all sheepish smiles, and Ignis tentatively sprouting one in return.


End file.
